


First Contact

by Wynja2007



Category: Pride (2014), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Erestor in Leather and on a Motorbike, Gen, God I love Disco, Hidden Communities, Naturalists vs Naturists, Oh And Canonically Dodgy, Scurrilous community singing, What happened to the Avari...?, crack-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 04:12:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6269089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynja2007/pseuds/Wynja2007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Elessar finds a hidden community  of Avari and answers their request for help by sending to Elrond who, in turn, sends a deputation...</p><p>But the Avari's idea of 'help' and the well-meaning King Elessar's are not the same...</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Contact

**Author's Note:**

> A completely chaste crossover crack AU which will make no sense unless you've seen the wonderful film 'Pride'(2014)... I am indebted to the brilliant Telemachus both for introducing me to the film, and who first postulated Dominic West's Jonathan as a modern-day Glorfindel...
> 
> As ever, opinions expressed by the characters are their own, and not that of the author.

‘I have had a letter from the court,’ Elrond said in portentous tones over breakfast one morning.

Erestor’s gaze was measuring; there were always letters from the Court of the King Elessar these days, Arwen talking joyously of her new life, Aragorn thanking for services sent, hinting at advice required... but the drama with which this letter had been introduced suggested that it was more than just a monthly round-up of gossip. Although why they didn’t just telephone like normal people...

Glorfindel paid no attention at all to the announcement, too busy discussing the good food on his plate before it grew cold.

Elladan and Elrohir were more interested.

‘From our sister?’ Elladan led off.

‘Or our brother?’ Elrohir added.

‘In fact, both; Arwen includes her usual note for you two... but of more import is what Aragorn has to say. The region has suffered particularly heavy rains this winter, as you may recall from previous missives, and this has resulted in a series of landslides which have, effectively, brought down half a mountain somewhere to the west.... and in so doing, has revealed a hidden community of Avari... Apparently, they were on their way to the sea when the earth changed around them and they found themselves trapped in their valley...’

Now Glorfindel lifted his head. ‘Like Gondolin?’ he asked.

Elrond shook his head.

‘No, I do not think so. Theirs does not seem to have been a deliberately hidden kingdom, but just a mischance. Now they are discovered, and are discovering much and wish to know more of us. They sent an envoy, one of their number, to the court, asking for help, since their community has been devastated by the floods. Aragorn has sent Faramir with a relief crew, but... they are wary, these Avari, and wish to meet such elves as still live in the world... they are finding it difficult to realise that we are now in the third millennium of the Sixth Age of the world and that so many places have changed... So, who will go?’

Everyone became as interested in their breakfasts as Glorfindel had been a few moments previously.

‘I need to send someone,’ Elrond said. ‘Legolas is already at Aragorn’s court in Cardiff; if we do not send a deputation then before you know it, the hinterlands will be overrun with Silvans... bad enough there’s a colony in Bristol...’

‘Oh, all right, I’ll go!’ Glorfindel said. ‘After all, if anyone knows about hidden kingdoms...’

‘Thank you, Seneschal. Erestor, I can manage without you, also...’

‘But my library, Elrond, cannot...’

‘Tish, Melpomaen can keep it in order. No, I want someone official there, keep record of what’s happening, after all, it is not as if you have work of importance here, is it? Oh, and boys? You can go, too, look in on your sister on the way...’

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged sultry glances.

‘Take the minibus, you can set off tomorrow; you’ll be in Cardiff in no time.’

*

‘So what do we think Aragorn means, a hidden community? Have they been lurking all this time?’ Glorfindel asked. ‘Is that even possible?’

‘Keep your eyes on the road, please, Glorfindel,’ Erestor said. ‘I suppose so... why not? Parts of Wales, even today, are very remote... You saw that film, ‘The Village’, a few years ago, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but that was, frankly, tosh...’

‘Very well, then, what about the community of gorillas in Africa? They were only discovered due to satellite images; I saw a wildlife programme about them. It had David Attenborough narrating. Even you, Glorfindel, cannot say ‘Tosh!’ to David Attenborough...’

‘Gorillas, yes, maybe. People, though? Avari?’

‘I agree, it is rather improbable and if it were offered as a story nobody would read it except devotees of the Fortean Times, but...’

‘They’d know though, surely? They’d know something?’

‘If they have been there since the First Age or before, why would they? No radio, or TV, perhaps, poor souls, no internet...’

Here Elladan and Elrohir shuddered as Glorfindel went on.

‘You’d think at least the Valar would drop in on them once in a while, hello, chaps, how are you doing, yes, that’s nice, but guess what, on the other side of the hills there...’

‘When did the Valar ever interest themselves these days?’

‘Why, Erestor, you cynic, you! Námo, he’s always popping in...’

‘Well, he is the one Vala we could do without! Now, come on... pay attention to the road!’

*

Aragorn – King Elessar – greeted them warmly but asked that they park the minibus out of sight, since its bright colours and modernistic slogans might be offensive to refined Gondorion tastes.

‘Shame on you!’ Glorfindel said. ‘I remember the day we painted it, you and I, and you begged to be allowed to paint the rainbow...’

‘I was younger then, and was not a king! Now, come, my friends, sit at ease with me and later you will be shown to your rooms... but did not more of you wish to come?’

Erestor shook his head.

‘Sadly the elves of Rivendell are happy in their own hidden valley... but come, these Avari, how are they taking to the modern world?’

‘In fact, it is not that bad... they did have dealings with humans from time to time, but they thought all elves except themselves had sailed or died... until recent years, they mingled quite freely with mankind, passing themselves off as men, for they were afraid to be seen to be different... until the 1950s, when people stopped wearing hats, that is. Since then, they have been alone. But, of course, had I explained all that to Elrond he would not have been as interested...’

‘I see. In fact, he was so very interested that he packed us all off to come and see on his behalf... and are any of these Avari with you here?’

‘At present, no... I sent a delegation of men, advisors, historians to the valley under Faramir’s leadership to begin the process of making our new friends aware of how much has changed recently...’ He lowered his voice as he led them inside, ‘I have had to send away the Dwarves, and Gimli, too; the Avari representative, Sílanor, saw a work crew about the city and routed the guard; the idea of friendship between Dwarves and Elves was utterly new to him... we have told them the histories, taught them our old penmanship, begun a literacy programme, started laying fibreoptic cables for data transfer so that we can introduce them to computing; they have a rudimentary form of plumbing and electricity, at least. But what they want is to meet Elves... Sílanor met with Legolas, and invited him to visit and bring friends with him; he has sent to his colony for volunteers...’

‘Adar said the last thing we want is Thranduil’s Silvans corrupting this enclave,’ Elrohir said.

‘So that’s why we’re here; strict instructions, Father gave us, how we must behave,’ Elladan added.

‘Present ourselves as true models of Noldorin behaviour.’

‘I wish you luck with that,’ Aragorn said. ‘Arwen likes Sílanor, at least, she says he has a fine heart.’ 

‘Why do you not, then, permit Arwen to represent Elvenkind?’ Erestor asked. ‘Between them, she and Legolas are representative of modern Elves...’

‘Ah, well, Arwen is in an... interesting condition, and I do not want her travelling into potentially difficult situations... and I cannot spare the time for a major expedition...’

‘I see.’ Erestor sniffed, and looked down his nose at Aragorn in a way that had never failed to put him in his place when he was a child. It worked still, king though he was. ‘And so you write home and ask your foster-father to send us to your aid.’

‘These Avari, Erestor – they have been so long isolated from Elvenkind, I thought of all of us, Elrond was best-placed to help... to send those who understood, such as our friend Glorfindel. And to see you amongst the company, Erestor, your wisdom and depth of knowledge is such that I am glad you came...’

‘I did not so much come, my lord king, as was sent,’ Erestor said in clipped tones. ‘If you will permit, I understand there is a room set aside for me?’

So ingrained, still, was the habit of deferring to Erestor that Aragorn waved a servant forward with instructions. Once Erestor had bowed, and withdrawn, the king turned to Glorfindel and the sons of Elrond.

‘Whatever is the matter with Erestor?’ he asked. 

The twins shrugged identical shrugs and Glorfindel was forced to answer.

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Except, that is, being ordered away from his life, his routine, his work with no thought or consideration given to his wishes, treated like a servant after all he’s done, after everything, all his centuries of service to be sent out with no option of refusal, his work brushed aside as of no importance...’

‘Adar made us come, too,’ Elladan pointed out.

‘Yes, but he spoke to you as a father to his sons. Aragorn, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better go and hide the minibus before someone sees it and takes offence at the rainbow. Good day.’

*

Glorfindel unpacked and sat down on the foot of the bed with a sigh. Yes, he’d volunteered for the trip – how not? These were elves older even than he, with memories stretching back further, perhaps... But there had been no reason for Elrond to make Erestor come along; in fact, if the Master of Rivendell had just been thinking, if he’d listened to Erestor, he’d have realised it wasn’t what he wanted... Just as he was debating the wisdom of knocking on Erestor’s door, there was a tapping on his own, and his old friend was outside.

‘Are you busy, Glorfindel?’

‘No, come in. I was thinking about you. Wondering if it was safe to see how you are?’

‘Ah. I ought to have been more circumspect; the manner of my departure...’

‘As far as Aragorn’s concerned, you were in the middle of an important project and Elrond insisted you come with us. Look, there’s no real reason why you have to come to the valley tomorrow...’

Erestor’s small, tight smile was sad.

‘Nor any valid reason why not. Especially not that Elrond knows...’

‘Be assured, I’ll say nothing.’

Erestor put a hand on Glorfindel’s arm, a fleeting contact intended to convey trust, gratitude, friendship.

‘Not even Elrond would have insisted I come, had he known I might have kin still living in the region.’

‘Do you ever wish, perhaps, that you had kept in touch...?’

A sad shaking of the head.

‘It was made plain to me that I would not be missed, and that any communication would not be welcome. Besides, it is not so very near this new valley; the Cambrian Mountains cover a large area, you know.’

‘Well, if you were to change your mind, I’d come with you. If it would help.’

‘We are not here for me to connect with my ancient past, Glorfindel, but to assist an enclave of elves to move into the present. Or if they cannot, to speak to them of other options – including Sailing.’

*

There was a formal dinner in the Royal Presence at which much food and drink was discussed, but the Valley of the Avari was strictly off the menu, for which Erestor was quietly grateful; it was as if Elessar didn’t want his mainly human court to realise just how special were these elves, just how much interest their existence had engendered. Legolas was present, and made mention, once or twice, of a delegation of his elves who would arrive the next day, but Aragorn did his best to quash the Sinda’s enthusiasm.

Not that it seemed to work; Legolas just turned laughing eyes on him and then gave his attention to Glorfindel.

‘It is a pity you were not here last week; my friend Gimli, you know, the Dwarf who saved my life more than once and who helped save the world? He was here, but regrettably he and his kin were called away. It is most unfortunate...’

‘Unfortunate indeed,’ Glorfindel said, trying not to grin. ‘The people of Durin contributed much in the days of the war.’

‘Well, when my people arrive, I understand you are going sight-seeing? May we beg a place in your transport?’

‘I am not sure there will be room for all of you,’ Aragorn said, reluctant to let the conversation continue unchecked. ‘Perhaps we can discuss this in the morning.’

‘Perhaps so,’ Erestor said. ‘But, be assured, your highness, I am more than willing to stay here and discuss formal matters of business with Aragorn; you may have my seat in the minibus and welcome.’

‘Only not his actual seat,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Erestor rides shotgun and reads the maps – I don’t trust your sense of direction – or that dodgy compass your father gave you. You can ride in the back with the rest of your Silvans. And the twins, of course.’

*

The minibus hadn’t been on the way very long when Araspen, one of the Silvan contingent riding in the back with her friend Merlinith, got bored of looking out of the window and began to sing, softly at first under her breath, an old and familiar tune. Merlinith picked it up, and Gyril, the third Silvan, a healer, hummed a counterpoint.

_‘Every Noldor is a Silvan in their heart_  
Every Noldor is a Silvan in their heart  
‘Every...’ 

‘You can’t say that!’ Elrohir put in, his tone outraged, hurt. ‘Glorfindel’s not a Silvan. My Adar’s not a Silvan...’

‘How do you know?’ Merlinith demanded. ‘How do you know they do not secretly wish to be real elves?’

‘What he means is, you can’t make great, sweeping statements like that,’ Elladan said. ‘It’s not right.’

The ellith looked at each other. Gyril began to tap the beat.

_‘Every Noldo is a Silvan deep at heart  
Especially Elro’s Adaaaaa....’_

‘Ai...!’ Legolas tipped his head back, exasperated as the twins grumbled, ‘I am sure you two used to be much better company...’

‘We have a responsibility to our father...’

‘...now that so many of us have left...’

‘...Or set up nature reserves and gone feral...’

‘...Like some Silvans we could mention...

Glorfindel grinned and just kept driving.

*

They were met by Faramir, a somewhat unwilling overseer of Aragorn’s aid workers.

‘We are trying to bring them up to date, but it’s difficult. They generate their own electricity from the local falls, and have been pretty much self-sufficient for decades. No communication with the outside world to speak of; they lost television when the analogue broadcasts ended... we’re bringing them up-to-date with politics and social changes...’ He broke off to sigh. ‘Currently, we are in the 1980s... it is rather trying.’

‘What?’ Glorfindel grinned. ‘The music was excellent, especially if you like disco...’

‘So, there is a meet-and-greet later, with, yes, you will be happy then, a disco and music of the 70s and 80s in the village hall... and I wish you luck... the committee is there now, I would take you across but I am needed over in the shop where, apparently, there is confusion with the microwave popcorn as nobody knows what a microwave is yet... Go on, down the main street, the building at the end, you can’t miss it... and good luck!’

*

‘Well, thank you for the introduction!’ Glorfindel murmured as Faramir retreated. ‘They can’t be that bad, surely?’

He led the way – someone had to – down a narrow street of close houses set facing one another, no gardens at the front, and he shook his head; this wasn’t how elves were supposed to live, in these false walls just set against one another amidst the landscape. Behind one row of houses a high mountain rose, and he pondered what might have happened to these unappealing little dwellings had that particular peak suffered a landslide...

‘I suppose they didn’t know any other way,’ Legolas said, sharing some of Glorfindel’s dismay. ‘If the only guides they have had were human...’

A squat building at the end of the street, tired, grills up at the windows, and they pushed through the creaking door to stand in the entrance, trying to decide which of the several inner doorways to go to when one opened and an elleth came out.

She was not at all what they had expected; Avari had not been seen for millennia and those that had been known had since mingled freely with Silvans. So this elleth, with her pale hair cut startlingly short, the age which showed on her face, the strange layering of ill-fitting garments came as a shock to those who were expecting these, their distant kin, to be beautiful and graceful beings.  
The elleth smiled and backed away to open a door and call through it.

‘Sílanor,’ she called, sideways, not looking away from them. ‘Your city elves have arrived.’

*

They filed after her into a large kitchen area, badly lit and smelling of dust and disinfectant – and when did elves need either of those things? – to stand facing a little group of Avari.

‘Welcome, welcome,’ Sílanor said. ‘Legolas, good to see you again. Are these your friends?’

‘Friends and kin, yes,’ Legolas said. ‘Merlinith and Araspen, and Gyril are all Silvan, and live on our lands around Bristol. But Elladan and Elrohir I have known for a long time; they are twins, their father is Elrond Half-elven, esteemed in wisdom. And Glorfindel, he lived in Gondolin, before its fall...’

Nods and smiles. Sílanor named his companions. Gael was perhaps the most elven of the ellith gathered, tall and slender with hair a similar shade to Legolas’ worn long, if unbraided. Erainil was less tall, and wider in girth, an odd feature of these elves that not all were tall and slight... her hair was dark, as curly as the sheep in the fields, but long, and her eyes were bright and friendly. The silver-haired elleth who had greeted them was introduced as Bainwen, and she smiled in a friendly way at Merlinith.

‘Now, I wonder if you can clear something up for me, only I was chatting down in the old covered market and what I heard there...’

‘Not now, Bainwen,’ the shortest of the ellith said firmly. She had a stern gleam in her eye and had been introduced as Laeriel. 

‘Let’s get settled in first,’ Sílanor said. ‘Oh, you need to talk to Aegasion, he’s making a list of all the visitors we have... nothing to worry about, he just likes lists...’

Aegasion was a dour ellon, tall and his face taking on a look of maturity that Glorfindel found difficult to see; what kind of life had these Avari had here, in their isolated village, that the years almost seemed to show on their faces? 

For a moment he ached, remembering Gondolin before the fall, how it managed to still be beautiful, even if it was isolated, locked down. He wished Erestor was here.

Instead, Legolas was at his shoulder.

‘Sílanor wants us to mingle, if we can, and just be ourselves...’

‘Wonderful! The twins have been dropping hints about how I mustn’t, on any account, be myself...’

The Sinda prince laughed. ‘Yes, indeed, who knew those two would grow up to inherit their father’s disapproving eyes? Really, I know Elrond is frightened Adar will invite everyone back to Yorkshire to drink wine and ignore Lancashire, but we need to get beyond that; what matters is these Avari, that we don’t impose anyone’s will on them... just help them find out what they want.’

‘You’re right, of course. But everyone’s going to have an opinion on what they want them to want, aren’t they?’

*

Around them the hall began to fill with Avari, sitting together, talking, drinking, their voices both lilting and strident by turns, shrill and pure, dour and light. Glorfindel tried to be friendly, to chat, to explain, he’d lived in a closed community, too, but there really wasn’t much common ground and although he did his best to charm and reassure, mostly he felt out of place, lost. The Silvan ellith seemed to be doing much better.

He paused for a moment, in earshot of Bainwen who was repeating her earlier question.

‘So, I wonder if you can tell me... I’m sure it’s a mistake, it was one of those Men, see? And you don’t like to argue... he said, all of you Silvans out Bristol way, you’re all naturists... that can’t be true, can it?’

Araspen struggled not to smile. Gyril played with the edge of the table, and Merlinith was left to answer. 

‘Actually, Bainwen, Araspen and I are both naturalists.’

Bainwen raised her eyebrows.

‘It’s a wonderful, mixed environment,’ Araspen put in. ‘Mostly given over to wild things, but there are one or two small eco-settlements. Very basic, much like...’ 

‘It’s a deliberate attempt to live in harmony with the land,’ Gyril said. ‘There’s a range of different habitats, but what we like is that it gives us a chance to live as Silvans used to live. As naturalists, we study the world around us and gather information to help preserve our natural heritage.’

‘That sounds nice.’

Well, perhaps it did sound nice, Glorfindel mused. Had to be better than here though, didn’t it? 

He moved on, found himself walking past the twins. He smiled to himself. In their colour-coordinated mustard cardigans, they really fitted in amongst the oddly dressed Avari. Gael was talking to them.

‘So... there’s you, and your dad...’

‘Oh, I know what you’re going to say,’ Elladan said, expecting questions about his mother, preparing the most romantic and appealing version of the tale he could think of; the truth was that their mother had suffered constant headaches whenever Gildor Inglorion opened his mouth, and so had sailed for a bit of peace.

‘Well, what I want to know is... what about the housework?’

‘Okay, so that’s not what I expected you to say. Well, that’s what the servants are for.’

‘Servants?’ She looked shocked. ‘But nobody has servants, these days! Your father needs to get with it, if you ask me!’

*

Somewhere, somebody tapped on a glass, the sound ringing through to silence the chatter in the hall. When all was silent, Sílanor raised his voice to address the gathering.

‘Any of our new friends know somebody called Erestor?’

Glorfindel hurried after Sílanor. Outside the hall, Erestor, in full black riding leathers, was parking a motorbike, removing his helmet.  
He nodded to his friend.

‘It’s Aragorn’s; Arwen won’t let him near it. Elrond phoned, wasn’t happy to hear I’d stayed behind, so...’

‘And the riding gear, is that Aragorn’s, too?’

‘Oh, these old things? I’ve had them for years, you really don’t notice what anybody wears except yourself, do you? How is it going?’

‘Not so well,’ Glorfindel admitted. ‘We’re doing our best, but only the village committee seems at all interested...’

‘Teething troubles,’ Sílanor said. ‘Just give it a bit of time. Come in then... Erestor is it?’

Erestor shed his leather jacket and shook out his long black hair as he entered the hall. The voices faltered, as if his appearance had somehow drawn attention, but the moment passed, and Glorfindel found him a place at the bar and a drink, introducing him to such Avari as were near.

Laeriel had a glint in her eye as she greeted him.

‘And is that a Cambrian accent, penneth?’ she asked.

‘I... it may be. The remnants.’

‘I remember those mountains, passing through on our way here. Is it still beautiful?’

‘I don’t know, sorry. It’s been a while since I went back...’

‘Oh, look!’ Glorfindel interrupted deliberately, knowing Erestor’s history was almost as painful as his own, wanting to spare him. ‘There’s going to be dancing...!’

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged glances.

‘Glorfindel!’ Elladan called after him as the Balrog Slayer headed to the dance floor. ‘Remember what Father said...’

Glorfindel turned with a grin, spread his hands.

‘Why should I care? He’s not my father...!’

And it was wonderful to hear the old tunes again, Rivendell not being a place for pop music, to dance to Blondie and Culture Club turned up loud. At the edge of the dance floor, he saw Legolas dancing good-naturedly with Erainil’s little ellith, charming little things with their mother’s wild, dark hair.

He smiled, and found himself partnered by Gael and Erainil. Yes, here was somewhere that Avari and Noldor, Silvan and Sindar all had common ground, the joy of moving your body to music along with others of your kind. Well, almost all of them.

‘This is a first, this,’ Gael said presently, her voice shrill to carry over the music. ‘Ellyn on the dance floor.’

Glorfindel drew back his head a little, his smiling expression puzzled.

‘You can’t be serious?’

‘Avari ellyn don’t dance, do they, Erainil?’

Erainil joined in, shaking her head.

‘Can’t move their hips.’

The Balrog-slayer grinned suddenly, looking over their heads towards the bar where Elrohir and Elladan were nursing drinks. Erestor caught his eye and raised a glass to him, and Glorfindel remembered a few wild nights out Manchester way, the two of them together, looking at the talent, invincible, they’d been...

Can’t move their hips? Really?

He turned back to Erainil and Gael.

‘Well, why don’t we show them what they’re missing?’

And he was gone, bounding over to the mixing deck to importune the DJ.

He started dancing – really, deliberately, performance dancing even before he jumped down from the rostrum, pointing out into the crowd and moving freely, jumping into the fray and clearing space as he turned and stepped and swung his hips. A circle gathered around him, admiring valley ellith clapping as he swept out an arm, following his pointing finger with dramatic, focussed eyes as his hips shrugged and dipped in time to the beat. The Silvans joined the supporting throng. Even Erestor joined in the hand-claps even if he did not embrace the music as enthusiastically as Legolas, dancing on the spot between Erainil’s little daughters.

The energy in the room built as one after another, the ellith came forward for Glorfindel’s attention. He twirled them, spun them, waltzed and romanced them, singly, two at a time between Laeriel and Bainwen, making a long floor-slide to end on his knees in front of Istiel from behind the bar, who had slipped away from her duties in the hopes of being chosen. She reached for Glorfindel’s shirt and with much play and thrusting of his hips, he allowed her to pull him to his feet and then to lift her, legs locked around his waist, to spin and laugh as she cried with glee. Setting her down and pretending not to notice the glares from the sons of Elrond, Glorfindel leapt onto the tables and threw back his head, strutting his way down them while glasses were snatched hastily out of way of his prancing feet, pausing to gyrate and skip and pose until the music finished and he ended to raucous applause from friends and strangers, ellith and ellyn alike.

‘God, I miss Disco!’ he said, taking bow after bow.

At the bar, Erestor joined in the applause, smiling for his old friend. The room which had seemed disjointed, fractured when he came in was now united, Glorfindel surrounded by Avari, talking, laughing... right where he should be, the centre of attention, glowing and glorious.

‘Excuse me,’ a voice at his elbow, an Avari elleth. ‘I don’t suppose you dance too, do you?’

*

‘Take the minibus.’

‘I’ll be fine on the bike.’

‘Take the minibus. It’s not as if it’s an hour each way, it’s freezing cold, there’ll be ice all over the roads, you’ll be safer in the minibus. Warmer too. Or else I’m coming with you, on the back of the bike. Without a crash helmet.’

Erestor exhaled, his breath pluming in the sub-zero air.

‘I don’t want to go, anyway. That Laeriel is some kind of witch, I’m sure of it... I won’t rest now, I won’t settle until I find out if... even if I’m sent away again, at least I’ll know...’

Glorfindel nodded. This was exactly what he’d been trying to tell his friend for the past century, but it had taken a stranger to get through to him.

‘Good luck,’ he said, stepping forward to give his friend a brief, fraternal hug. ‘See you later.’

Erestor nodded and got into the bus, allowing Glorfindel to shut the door, wave him off. He settled to the task of driving, through the hinterlands, the old roads Laeriel had spoken of as the way across the hills to the mountains beyond.

Nobody, not even Glorfindel knew all the details of Erestor’s youth. As far as anyone else was concerned, Erestor’s personal history began when he found his way to Eregion, and thence to Imladris, millennia before.

He drove all morning until he came to roads he knew, even though he’d spent hundreds of years telling himself he’d forgotten. From there, another twenty minutes up into the hills, and he was pulling in at the cottage that had been old even when he’d left in all his young anger so very long ago.

It hadn’t changed.

The question was, had he? Had she?

Because if not, then all he was doing was opening up old wounds to bleed again.

*

Glorfindel had returned to the village hall for breakfast where all the visitors, human and elven alike were fed, when the twins approached, faces looking unpleasantly human in the harsh lighting of the hall.

‘Why did you let Erestor go off like that?’ Elladan demanded.

‘And with the minibus, too, leaving us stranded here?’ Elrohir echoed.

Glorfindel shook his head.

‘Chips off the old block, you two,’ he said. ‘By rights you should just be quarter-human but all I see today is a bevy of Mannish traits that don’t do you any favours, boys.’

And as they braced themselves, drew breath, Glorfindel grinned.

‘Sílanor’s looking across. And that Aegasion, now, he’s just a bit shy, that one, and if he sees us fighting... who knows? It might actually help to see we’re not all chums together, not all the time. Might do them good to see that it’s ‘allowed’ to disagree with one another. That’s the feeling I’ve been getting, they don’t like all this but they’re somehow scared to say. Yes, I let Erestor take the bus. Because otherwise, you two would be out of here, wouldn’t you? Back to visit your sister, all very well and good, very nice, but we’re here to help these Avari. Not your brother-in-law, or your father – even if he is my boss – or even the Silvans. But these elves here. And I’m not sure anyone else has remembered that.’

He pushed past them to go to the serving hatch where Gael smiled at him and heaped his plate high with eggs and bacon.

‘So,’ she said as she found him a mountain of toast. ‘What’s a microwave, then?’

‘It’s a device for heating food in patches, making it too hot in some areas and not at all in others, and for destroying any nutritional value it ever had. Normally used for warming up cold baked beans and making popcorn.’ He smiled. ‘You’re not missing anything on that one.’

He sat near Legolas who had finished eating but was unable to move due to the attentions of Erainil’s daughters, busy restructuring his hairstyle. Currently the royal Sinda, the Prince of the Greenwood, Heir to the Forests of Eryn Lasgalen and his father’s pride and joy, was wearing two and a half pigtails, a set of mismatched bunches, and some rather dubious orange lipstick which had failed to match its target area.

Erainil passed with a pot of coffee, offering refills. She paused to scold.

‘Look at what you’ve done to the poor boy! He’s not a Girl’s World, for heaven’s sake!’

‘But we love him, Nana,’ the littlest one said, causing Legolas to smile.

‘Funny way of showing it,’ Erainil muttered. ‘Well, all right. But if Legolas turns up at the community meeting looking like that, I’ll know who to blame...’

‘I tried to tell them, Erainil, pink is much more my colour, but...’

‘Oh, you’re as bad as they are!’

‘Community meeting?’ Glorfindel asked when Erainil had moved off.

‘Oh yes, the one I’m not supposed to tell you about in case you muck things up for Elrond,’ Legolas said, grinning with lopsided lips. 

‘In case you support the wrong side...’

‘There are no sides, surely?’

‘Well, you’d hope so. I know Aragorn wants to help – Sílanor asked for aid, for that matter – but I don’t think superfast broadband was quite what he had in mind... when’s Erestor due back, do you know?’

Glorfindel hesitated, and Legolas shook his head, dislodging a butterfly-shaped hair clip.

‘No, I’m not prying, what he does is his business, sometimes I wonder if he knows himself what he’s thinking... just asking.’

‘I don’t know; not before late afternoon, I wouldn’t think. Maybe longer.’

‘The meeting’s at seven; Faramir’s going to talk about the improvements Aragorn wants to bring to the valley... it would be really useful if he’s back for then.’

‘Why, especially?’

‘Did you not notice? The Avari love him. Oh, yes, they adore your dancing, I know, but they’ve no time for the twins – the human blood, they can’t imagine why it might ever be a good thing – and me, yes, they don’t seem to mind me... but Erestor? You said yourself, Laeriel calls him penneth... Avari, you see, wanderers. On their way here, they wandered into the Cambrian Mountains, Erainil told me. Before her time, but Laeriel remembers it, she was an elfling. Just a small group of dark-haired elves, Noldor, I suppose, before they sailed... Laeriel says they were kind, and Erestor somehow has a look of them...’

*  
Erestor faced the door of the cottage as if it was a mortal enemy. Always brave, today his courage almost failed him, the simple act of knocking on a door.

But he’d come all this way, he couldn’t turn back now; it was so isolated here, somebody must have heard the engine of the bus...

Perhaps there was nobody home.

Perhaps he could knock and then just... go. Leave a note.

But only if he knocked first.

Before Erestor could think about it again, he tapped on the door and stepped back. Far sooner than he was ready, it opened. An elleth with questions in her eyes, half-hidden behind the door as if she was afraid of opening it fully.

Choking, suddenly, words not coming past the wall of emotion that rose up...

He found his voice.

‘Hello, Nana,’ he said.

*  
The meeting wasn’t going well by any stretch of the imagination. Faramir sat at a table facing a sea of chairs filled with prickly Avari, a couple of his modernisation team beside him. Elrohir and Elladan had seen the chairs set for them the other side of the humans, and had pushed Glorfindel and Legolas towards them instead.

‘What about behaving to your father’s standards?’ Glorfindel asked.

‘It’s too late for that now! Anyway, they seem to like you. Just... remember who you work for...’

‘Hmm... starting to think about a career change, actually...’

Sílanor came to the front of the room.

‘We’re here tonight to talk about recent proposed alterations to the valley,’ he began. ‘It’s true, we did go looking for help when the hill fell away... what we didn’t realise was how much the world had changed... or that there were other elves left in the wider world...’ 

He paused to nod at Glorfindel and Legolas. ‘But what we wanted – what we meant was we needed a bit of help digging out the road, and to renew the power cables. Maybe a bit of support while we got sorted. But this is all going a bit too far, some of you are saying. So we’ve called this meeting in order to make our wishes known, and then there’s no misunderstandings, right?’

‘All we want to do is bring you up to speed with the modern world and make sure you have everything you need,’ Faramir began. 

‘Your king will gladly fund your rehabilitation into the...’

‘Whose king?’ someone called out.

‘Not our king, we are not human, we don’t recognise this king...’

‘Wanting to dig up our lovely valley to bury all these cables... how do you know what they’re doing if you can’t see them...?’

‘You can tell your king from me what he can do with his fibreoptic cables!’ Aegasion snarled. ‘He can put them where the sun doesn’t shine...’

‘But we were only trying... please, no, please...’ Faramir made placating gestures. ‘It was just a misunderstanding... Glorfindel, you are the most senior of our elves here, will you not speak...?’

‘You know, I rather think I will...’ Glorfindel got to his feet, his chair groaning and scraping as it slid back. ‘But I need to point out, I’m not one of your elves, Faramir. While Elvenkind generally recognises Aragorn as King Elessar of the Reunited Kingdoms, I do not accept him as my personal king; I am not human... in case it escaped your notice. I agree, there has been a degree of misunderstanding... so it’s time you humans started listening...’

‘But the king wants the Avari to have everything they need, that’s all,’ Faramir said.

‘Superfast broadband? Microwaves?’ Legolas got to his feet now. ‘Simply because everyone in the human community has them does not mean everyone needs them. We Silvan elves use technology – yes, even we use it – but we do not need it. I am sure Aragorn means well – and finding an enclave of elves in the midst of one’s kingdom must have been a surprise, to say the least – but humankind needs to listen and respond to requests, not simply to try to amalgamate the community here...’

‘So what do you want us to do?’ one of Faramir’s assistants asked.

A chorus of voices from the floor made suggestions, not all of them polite or particularly comfortable. Or even physically possible, Glorfindel thought, not without making your eyes water...

‘I suggest you leave,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Go back to Aragorn tomorrow, explain to him that the people of the valley don’t want modernising any more.’

‘We’re quite happy in the 1980s, thank you,’ Laeriel said.

‘Very well; tomorrow, we will pack up and leave. But who is there, Glorfindel, who can properly advise these elves? Elrohir and Elladan are known to be related to the king by marriage; in spite of all he says, the prince spends most of his time lost in nature; what would he know of bringing the past into the present? And you, my lord Balrog-slayer; yes, you know all about the past... but what do you really know of the modern world yourself?’

Glorfindel shrugged. 

‘Actually, I’m tempted to agree with the valley – the music of the 80s was great... and what more could you need? Well, perhaps a couple of sewing machines, a few bolts of fabric and some new dressmaking shears...’

‘That still doesn’t answer the question; where will we find someone with enough knowledge of local Elven culture and modern living to be an independent advisor while we get this sorted out?’

The door at the back of the hall burst open and Erestor surged through, leading in a diminutive, self-contained elleth of warrior bearing.

‘Hello, everybody,’ he said. ‘Sorry we’re late... this is my Nana.’

*  
It was a very sombre group of humans that returned to the court at Cardiff late the next day, Elladan and Elrohir with them, bearing a long and detailed letter containing exactly what the valley wanted, and did not want, in the way of help and support. Erestor’s mother Angharad had been met with a joy bordering upon reverence, for her grandfather and Laeriel’s mother had known each other during the Avari’s days of wandering and the people of the valley swiftly decided, if she would consent to it, there would be none better to bridge the distance between the old ways and the new than she herself.

Weeks passed, new understandings grew, Glorfindel taught everybody to dance Disco, the valley took a vote and decided that while CD players and discs were an acceptable modernisation, they would draw the line at MP3 players. 

Bainwen accepted an invitation to visit the nature reserve at Ithilien and learn what naturalists got up to in their spare time, Elladan and Elrohir refused to drive the minibus back to Imladris and set off on Aragorn’s motorbike, much to his disgust and Arwen’s relief.  
Erestor sent with them a very fine letter to Elrond, which contained both his and Glorfindel’s letters-of-resignation and a rider that, if  
the Lord of Imladris couldn’t be bothered with the upkeep of the library, to send the books down to the valley and Erestor would take care of them for him.

In time, Aragorn ceded special status to the Valley, making it an enclave within the kingdom with its own borders and rights, and generally everything ended well, except for microwave salespersons.

Nobody ever found out exactly why Erestor and his nana had become estranged in the first place and, looking at the steely glint in Angharad’s eye which softened only when her son was in the vicinity, nobody ever dared to ask.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note:  
> Although I generally avoid author’s notes where possible, perhaps a little explanation is necessary here.  
> Wales is Gondor; Cardiff is Minas Tirith.  
> The Brecon Beacons are where the Avari’s hidden valley was located... somewhere.  
> The Misty Mountains are the Pennines, with Thranduil ruling his forest in Yorkshire and Elrond’s Rivendell Lancashire... I like to think of him in Burnley...
> 
> Ithilien is a nature reserve around the Bristol area populated by Silvan naturalists.
> 
> *
> 
> Please note that the lyrics to the Silvan ellith’s song is entirely their own; in this AU Celebrian wasn’t taken and mauled by Orcs, but left Middle Earth after a surfeit of pomposity from Gildor Inglorion. Similarly, Glorfindel’s opinion of the work of M. Night Shyamalan is not mine, although his take on 80s music absolutely is.


End file.
